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2 Poems from The Metamorphosis by Kyra Horton: Part 2 of 3

Part two of a three part series where 19-year old poet Kyra Horton shares two poems from her series Metamorphosis with notes on what inspired them.

Sixty continues with part 2 of a three part series where 19-year old poet Kyra Horton shares two poems from her series Metamorphosis with notes on what inspired them.

You can read more of her work in debut poetry book, Cries of a Butterfly, which speaks about memory, loss, and growth. Order a copy of her book here.


somedays i’m a mess of insecurity and tears to the point where i don’t even recognize myself.  when hope disappears and trust is washed down the drain.  

my heart aches like my legs do when carrying heartbreak for too long.  

when carrying abandonment.  

when carrying neglect too heavy for me to bear, i break.  

i let my smile fall to the floor and i leave it there.  

i let the walls around my heart stand tall and i leave them there.  

no room for love. no room for light.  

some days i’m dark.  

a mess of agony and pain to the point where i don’t even recognize myself.  i wish that my own warmth was enough to guide me back from this place but it’s often not.  left on the bathroom floor only to be picked up by someone or something much stronger than i. praying to my god that i don’t want to give up yet  

but deep in my heart i too often know that’s a lie.  

some days i’m not soft like velvet.  

i’m not charming.  

some days i spend so much time at war with my own heart that i forget what side i’m on.  not knowing how to say that i’m not okay 

i stay in my own space until the darkness goes away.  

and it does.  

and then sun rises  

and i can again recognize my own reflection.


real love doesn’t change with the seasons.  

love is as pure and as smooth as silk on a summer day. love does not blow away when the storm  comes and wash to the dirt when the rain weighs too heavy.  

real love lies in the belly and wakes at the sound of their name.  

love is the language i was born speaking. the language i taught you to speak. communicating to you the feelings i could never say. you saying the feelings you never really felt.  did my heart just sound pretty to you?  

a well versed sonnet memorized but never learned. a lesson learned and a girl never loved.  you didn’t become fluent in me. the complexities of my being too much work for you.  i wasn’t worth the effort.  

you’ve never met a girl who required your soul to expand to come in proximity with hers.  never met a woman who forced you to be a man when society told you it was easier to stay boy.  never met a girl, who was also woman. me either. i confuse myself sometimes too.  how my mind as wise as my ancestors and my heart as fragile as an infant.  how i demand so much but require so little.  

how i’m so confident i’m a woman yet praying for a boy to love me.  

i guess i forgot my worth around the same time you did.  

i guess i forget my hurt with every apology you give.  

my heart break repetition repeatedly begging you to change.  

your lie lined lips repeatedly telling me you would change.  

i’m just learning the difference between love and lust, difference between dependency and trust.  you were a reflection of everything i disliked about myself. 

that’s why you felt so familiar. confusing a lesson with home.  

i can’t stay… with you

Notes on the poems:

Possibly one of the most difficult poems for me to share. I always attempt to be strong, fearless, and independent, but sometimes I’m none of those things. Sometimes I’m weak. There are days where I need to abandon pride to ask for help and nights when my tears overpower my joy, but that is okay too. Not every day is a good one, but better days always come. This is an ode to the constant cycles of life.

This poem was birthed from pain. A sad and sorrowful place. A place where agony became art. A place where I rejected other’s actions telling me I wasn’t enough and accepted that other people’s insecurities do not reflect my identity. This poem is an anthem to recite when it’s time to pick up your broken pieces and move forward

My name is Kyra Horton and I am a creator. Whether expressing myself through writing, performing, or painting, I strive to turn pain into beauty. I’m a Black woman, Chicago raised, and 19. I aim to capture life’s complexities through my art while still remaining genuine to who I am. I am fearless in the avenues I will seek in order to create the emotion painted in my heart. The world is my canvas, while also being my muse. 

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